The clown that waits to kill me
When I was a child my grandmother would make me say my prayers before I would go to sleep every night. My sister and I would kneel down next to our beds and say :
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to KEEP;
if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
You might recognize that prayer from Metallica’s “Enter the Sandman”. I remember being so scared at 8 years old with the concept of dying being thrust into my childish mind right before bedtime. But my grandmother would reassure me that everything was alright, and the Lord would take care of me.
Inevitably I would wake up, and we would go to church on Sunday and thank God for everything he did, cause he does everything. One day I realized that I was thanking god for not murdering me in my sleep, and that’s the point of the prayer.
In essence I was saying every night, “Hey god, I’m about to take a nap. If you feel like killing me, do me a favor and do something cool with me afterwards and we’ll stay BFF’s forevers!” And then after a week of not murdering me I would go to a building with other people and say “Thanks for not murdering us! Here’s ten percent of our stuff, we’ll go yell at gay people and single mothers now to show you how cool you our.”
In essence God went from old dude with a beard and toga in the clouds that made stuff, to a psychopathic clown that waited in my closet to murder me everytime I laid down for bed. Unless I tell him “It’s cool” for a lifetime worth of sleep cycles he will stab the baptized shit out of me, and then outsource an eternity of torture to an ex-employee of his circus.
That’s one of many reason’s I’m now an atheist.
